Friday, 19 September 2008

A difficult relationship

I’ve lived with him for four years now and our relationship has hit a desperately rocky phase.
Oh, he has his good points. He’s good looking, cool, suave and sophisticated - I’m the envy of many of my friends, in fact.
But sometimes his behaviour is so cruel and despicable towards me, the kids, our neighbours - I just can’t bear the torment any more.
I think the time has finally come to admit it.
I hate my cat.
Honestly, he’s a complete git and I’m starting to wonder what is the point of him living in the Bad Mutha household at all.
He never gives any of us any affection - slinking away if you so much as try to give him a friendly pat.
If he deigns to come and join us as we relax in the living room in the evening, he won’t sit on my knee like cats are supposed to. He’ll trot off on his own to some remote corner, then start randomly clawing at the furniture or carpet until he annoys us so much we have to chuck him outside.
We had to withdraw his cat flap privileges several months ago because he kept bringing mice into the house.
Live mice.
Who then escaped and set up home in various other parts of our ground floor. One managed to live quite happily inside the sub woofer speaker underneath the telly for quite some weeks. Which was odd.
So now the cat is only allowed free access to the conservatory.
And that’s where he mainly prefers to stay now, the antisocial little lowlife.
The thing is, DD2, who is 17 months absolutely adores him.
She screams with delight whenever he comes inside to eat his food and tries to give him a kiss.
One of the first words she uttered was: “Cat!”
He repaid her last night by scratching her face.
Evil little tosser.
So what do I do?
I couldn’t bring myself to drop him off at the RSPCA - the guilt would be too much for me.
And much as he deserves throwing in the local pond, animal cruelty just isn’t Bad Mutha’s style.
My only hope is that he wanders off and finds some little old lady to move in with.
Or maybe you know someone who’s looking for a cruel, annoying, unfriendly, unlovable, selfish, not very clever, fairly violent pet to take care of?
Thought not.

Thursday, 11 September 2008

Get active - or else!

As I write this, DD1 is less than a week into her new life at secondary school.
And the moaning has already started.
The first couple of days she positively skipped down the road to join the big boys and girls at the local comp.
Then last night she came home with a face like a wet weekend in Warsop.
Apparently, she’s been told that she HAS to do six-weeks worth of “out of hours” exercise in her first year.
That is, she has no choice but to “give up” at least six lunch breaks or an hour after school to do something active - like basketball, football, rugby or, shudder, cheerleading.
DD1 thinks this is a gross imposition on her - and frankly, I can’t say I blame her.
Obviously it’s an attempt to encourage kids to do more exercise - which I haven’t got a problem with.
But telling her she “has to” do it seems ludicrously heavy handed.
Even if DD1 was fat, which she ain’t (quite the opposite actually) I really can’t see how giving her six weeks worth of compulsory extra exercise is going to particularly help.
Surely it’s better to provide a bit of motivational support so that kids WANT to do the activities - rather than forcing them into it like a bunch of resentful prisoners.
As it happens, the school have now succeeded in ruining what should have been a really memorable week for DD1 and her mates.
Yeah, I know, maybe she should count herself lucky she hasn’t got other things to worry about. Yadda yadda yadda.
It’s just... well... I could never stand PE either.
All those hideous cross country runs and hockey matches in the rain and dreary gym sessions.
Just the thought of it is enough to make me want to slit my wrists.
My solution was simple though.
Skive off after registration with my best mate and watch Monty Python videos at her house. Ah, Helen Wilkinson - where are you now?
So there you go. After just a few days at a new secondary school, I’m already seriously thinking of encouraging my daughter to skive off.
Isn’t modern education a wonderful thing?

Thursday, 4 September 2008

Boys' clothing is just baaaaad!

Why are clothes and accessories for little boys so utterly minging?
It’s not just the obsession with skulls and crossbones and military gubbins, although that’s worrying enough.
It’s all the horrible little slogans that seem oh-so-innocent, yet have such a negative impact.
The other day, I went into McKays in Ilkeston for a new bib for DD2.
At 17 months, she’s decided she is old enough to spoon her dinner into her mouth herself. This is a horribly messy affair, requiring industrial strength protection for her clothing (and my floors and walls, actually).
Anyway, I was delighted to find a suitably large and effective looking bib complete with sleeves in McKays.
It was all pink and lovely and had the slogan “Little Princess” emblazoned on the front.
Then I nipped round to the other side of the display and saw the exact same bib, only this was aimed at boys (obviously, because it was blue).
Only the slogan on the lads’ version was “Naughty Little Monkey.”
Now why does it automatically transpire that the boy will be “naughty” while the girl will be a “princess”?
If any of my offspring were boys, I would be writing a letter to my MP or the PM or Fern Britton or someone to protest about this blatant negative labelling.
And when you think about it, how many times have you seen similar scenes in other shops?
The girls’ clothes all have slogans about puppies and princesses and fairies and angels.
While the boys’ are all cheeky and naughty and monster and trouble.
It’s outrageous.
Call me unreasonable, but I don’t see why children’s clothing designers are so obsessed with having slogans of any sort.
What’s the matter with a nice plain frock or a simple blue tee-shirt anyway? Aren’t they “edgy” enough for modern tots?
So... what’s the worst slogan you’ve seen on a children’s tee-shirt…?